Terence's comedies: made English. With his life; and some remarks at the end. / By several hands.

ACT IV.

Ctesipho and Syrus.

Ctes.

entring.

— MY Father gone into the Country say ye?

Syr.

Above an hour ago.

Ctes.

Prithee tell me true.

Syr.

He's at his Grainge, slaving himself most horribly by this time, I'll warrant ye.

Ctes.

Faith, if it might not endanger his health, ••••cou'd wish heartily he might be so miserably tir'd, as to be laid up these three days.

Syr.

So say I: and a longer time too, if possible.

Ctes.

Ay, ay: for I'd very fain, now I've begun the day merrily, make an end of it merrily too▪ The only Quarrel I have with our Countty-house is, that tis too, nigh the Town: Were it farther ••ff, before he could get thither and back again, '••would be Night first. But now when he finds no Ctesipho at home, I'm sure he'll be upo' th' spur back again in an instant. Then to Catechi∣s••ng he goes: Pray where ha' you been, Sir? What? Can't a Man have a glimps of ye, in a whole day's ••ime? What excuse. shall I have?

Syr.

Han't ye got one ready?

Ctes.

The Devil a one have I.

Syr.

So much the worse: Why if you had but, one of your Domesticks, a Friend, or a guest, that were better than no body yet.

Ctes.

I have, what then?

Syr.

Pretend you had hasty business to dispatch.

Ctes.

What when I had none?— 'Twon't do.

Syr.

'Twill tho.

Ctes.

Ay for the day: but if I lie out all Night, what excuse then Syrus?

Syr.

'Tis pity it is not more the Fashion to serve a Friend in the Nights as well as day.— But how∣ever, set your heart at rest; I know your Father's humour to a hair. VVhen he rages like a Lyon, I can presently make him as quiet as a Lamb.

Ctes.

As how, I prithee?

Syr.

Oh, he's mightily tickled when any body commends you: I make ye a very Saint before▪ him, and reckon up all your vertuous Qualities.

Ctes.

Mine?

Syr.

Ay, yours: Then of a suddain the good Man cries like a little Child, for Joy.— Look to your self there.

Enter Demea at a distance.

Ctes.

starting.

VVhat d'ye mean?

Syr.

Talk o'th' Devil and his Horns appear▪

Ctes.

Is't my Father?

Syr.

The very same.

Ctes.

Prithee, Syrus, what shall we do now?

Syr.

Run in quickly, I'll set my VVits to work.

Ctes.

If he ask for me, say you han't seen me, d'ye hear?

Syr.

Can ye hold your Tongue?

Exit Ctesipho.

Dem.

to himself.

I'm the unluckiest Creature ••••at ever was born▪ In the first place, my Brother is not to be found above Ground: Then as I was

looking for him, who should I see but a VVork∣man just come from my Country-house, and says my Boy isn't there neither. Nor can I tell for my Life what course to steer.

Ctes.

appearing at the Window.

Syrus!

Syr.

What say ye?

Ctes.

Does he enquire for me?

Syr.

Yes, Faith.

Ctes.

I'm undone.

Syr.

Come, don't be discourag'd.

Dem.

to himself.

How great is this my Mis∣fortune! I can't sufficiently understand it, unless I was predestinated to be miserable. Is there any mischief happens to our Family, to be sure I'm the first that am sensible on't, the first that knows it, the first that reports it, and the only Man that feels the weight when it falls.

Syr.

Faith I can't but laugh at him, to hear him say, that he's the first that knows every thing, when he's the only Man that knows nothing.

Aside.

Dem.

to himself.

I'll ev'n go again to see if my Brother be come back.

Ctes.

Prithee, good Syrus, take care he don't break in upon us unawares.

Syr.

Peace I say, I'll take care about it.

Ctes.

Faith, Sir, but I shan't trust my Concerns in your hands to day: For I'll secure my Girl and my self in some by Closet or other; E'dad that will be the surest way by half.

Ctesipho retires.

Syr.

Away! I'll clear the Coast of him in a trice

Syr. moves towards Demea shrugging his Shoulders, and snivelling.

Dem.

Oh, there's the Hell-hound, Syrus.

Syr.

to him self.

If this Trade last long, there'll be no enduring the House. I'd fain know of their Worships how many Masters I am to have; what a damnable thing is this?

Dem.

What a yelping this Cur makes? What does he ail?— What say you honest Man? Is my Brother at home? Hah!

Syr.

Pox o'your honest Men, I'm a dead Man.

Dem.

What's the Matter?

Syr.

The Matter with a plague? Your sober stay'd Son Ctesipho has almost beaten poor me and the Musick Girl to death.

Dem.

VVhat's that you say? Hah!

Syr.

See how he has slit my Lip up to my Nose.

Dem.

How comes this to pass?

Syr.

He says, I was the occasion o'the buying of her.

Dem.

Didn't you just now tell me, he was gone into the Country, and you brought him part o'th' way.

Syr.

True, Sir. But after that he came raving like a Mad-man, sparing never a Mothers Son of us. He might ha' been asham'd to fall upon the Bones of a poor old Man, who t'other day dandled him in my Arms, when he was no higher than this.

Shews how high.

Dem.

Ha— ha— he— God-a-mercy Ctesipho: Old Demea right. Well! thou'rt a Man every Inch of thee.

Syr.

D'ye commend him? but i'faith he had best keep his flippant Fingers to himself another time, if he understands himself.

Dem.

'Tis bravely done!

Syr.

Very bravely indeed! To Cock-crow over a silly Woman, and a poor Servant, that daren't hold up a Finger against him?— Yes, 'twas wonderful brave i'faith.

Dem.

He cou'dn't ha' done better. He's o' my Opinion in thinking you to be the Ring-leader of this Roguery.— But is my Brother within?

Syr.

No, he's abroad.

Dem.

I'm thinking where a-duce I may look for him.

Syr.

I know where he's gone, but shan't tell till to Morrow.

Dem.

What's that you say, Sirrah? hah!

Syr.

Just so, Sir.

Dem.

I'll crack your Skull presently ye Dog.

Holds up his Cane.

Syr.

bantering.

I know not the Man's Name where he is; but the Place I do.

Dem.

Then tell me the place, Sirrah.

Syr.

still bantering.

Do you know the great Portico, that overlooks the Butcher-row as you go down there?

Dem.

VVell, what then?

Syr.

still bantering.

Go strait along this Street up there.

pointing with his Fingers.

When you are got there, you'll find on this hand a Descent, make a civil step down there. After that you'll see a little Chappel on that hand, and hard by that a little narrow Lane.

Dem.

VVhereabouts is that?

Syr.

There, where the great wild Fig-tree stands, d'ye know it, Sir?

Dem.

I do.

Syr.

Keep directly through that.

Dem.

But that narrow Lane is no Thorow-fare.

Syr.

Ud••s my Life 'tis true: I see I'm a silly Block-head, I was out. You must come back a∣gain to the great Protico: E••dad here's a nigher way, and easier to hit on. D'ye know my Lord Cratine's great house?

Dem.

Yes.

Syr.

When you are past that, turn to the Left∣hand down the same Street: and when you're come to the Temple turn to the Right-hand: be∣fore you come to the Cit•• Gates hard by the H••rse∣pond, there's a certain Mill, right over-against that is a Joyner's Shop, and there you'll find the G••n∣tleman.

Dem.

VVhat business has he there?

Syr.

To speak for little Oaken-ledg'd Tables to set in the Sun.—

Dem.

For your VVorships to drink about— Fine work I faith. But why amn't I gone to him?

Exit Demea.

Syrus

alone.

Go thy ways for a Fool: I'll work thee off thy Stumps, as thou deservest, thou old doting Chu••l.— But Mr. Eschine sta••s a bloody while: Dinner will be quite spoil'd: As for C••••sipho hes wholly taken up with his Mistress: but I•••••• take care of my own sweet Corps; and will pi•••• out all the good Bits I can f••••d, take off my Cups of my leisure, and so make the day as long as I can.

Exit Syrus.

Enter Micio and ••egio.

Mic.

entring.

— Indeed, Mr. Hegio, I can see nothing i'th' whole business that deserves such mighty Commendations. I discharge but my Duty, and give satisfaction for the Faults of my own house: Perhaps you took me to be one of those Men that think they receive an Injury when they do't themselves, and so call Whore first: Now 'cause I didn't serve you so, d'ye think your self oblig'd to me for't?

Heg.

Far be it from me! I never imagin'd ye to be otherwise than I really find ye: but let me engage ye so far as to step over with me to the Girl's Mother; and tell her the very same you told me: that their Jealousie was false grounded, and that he took away the Musick Girl for his Brother.

Mic.

If you think it convenient and necessary let's be going.

Heg.

You do well, Sir! For you'll lighten the poor creature's heart that's ready to sink with Grief and Vexation, and keep up the character

of a worthy Gentlemen. But, Sir, if you don't think it so proper, I'll tell her what you say my self.

Mic.

No, no, I'll go with ye.

Heg.

You oblige me, Sir: For howsoever it comes about, all that are a little down in the world are very suspicious; take every thing at the worst hand, and fancy themselves slighted, cause of their Misfortunes: Therefore twill give great satisfacti∣on to clear Mr. Eschine your self.

Heg.

You say nothing but what's tru••e and rea∣sonable.

Heg.

Be pleas'd, Sir, to come this way.

Mic.

I will.

Exeunt Hegio and Micio at the same time.

Eschine

Enter alone.

I'm quite distracted! That I shou'd be so surpriz'd with this unlucky Misfor∣tune, that I know not what to do or undertake! Fear enfeebles my Limbs, Amazement shakes my Soul, and my Heart's uncapable of Advice. Alas! how shall I wind my self out of these Incum∣brances, since their Jealousies are seemingly well∣grounded? Mrs. Sostrata believes I bought the M••sick Girl for my self: Old Canthara gave me to understand as much. For by chance I saw her as she was going for the Midwife, I presently made up to her, and ask'd her how my dear Pam∣phila did, whether she was near her time; and whether she was then going for the Mid-wife? She presently let flye upon me.

In another Tone.

Away, away Mr. Eschine; you've befool'd us long enough, you've cajol'd us sufficiently with your fine Pro∣mises. Alack-a-day (said I) prithee what dost mean? You may go now (continued she) and take up with the Girl you are so enamour'd with. I immediately perceiv'd their Jealousie: But yet I kept my Tongue between my Teeth, that I might not blab out any o' my Brother's Secrets to that tattling Gipsie,

to have it ••laz'd about the Town in an instant— But what shall I do now? Shall I go and say she's my Brother's? A thing that ought not ought not to be reveal'd for the World.— Well! Let that pass, perhaps they won't discover it. Then I am afraid they wont take things as they are, there are so many Probabilities against me. Twas I,u self that took her away, I my self that paid the Money for her, and twas I that furnish'd her with Lodgings. I must own the Fault of all this lies at my door: For not telling my Father how Cases stood between me and my Mistress; and not beg∣ging his Consent to take her home and marry her. We••ve been in a dead sleep till now, but now Es∣chine rouse thy self up. First of all I'll go to'em and clear my self.— I'll up to the Door strait.

Goes and steps short.

Oh my heart! how sadly it pants whensoever I knock at this Door

Goes and knocks.

Soho! 'Tis your Friend Eschine; some body open the Door quickly.— But, ha'! I can't imagine who comes out there?— I'll step a one side.

Enter Micio

Mic.

to Sostrata within.

Do as I order'd ye Mrs. Sostrata, I'll find out Efchine to acquaiut him how Matters are carried on.— But where's he that knock'd at the Door?

Esch.

S'death! My Father's Voice! I'm at a cursed Nonplus.

Aside.

Mic.

Eschine.

Esch.

What business has he here?

Aside.

Mic.

Wast you that knock'd at the door?— He's mute: Suppose I should banter with him a little, I believe 'twou'dn't be amiss, since he'd never trust me with this Secret.—

Aside,

Mic.

What can't ye speak?

To Eschine.

Esch.

I didn't knock as I know of.

Mic.

Indeed? Nay, I wonder'd what business shou'd bring you hither. He blushes: that's sign good enough

Aside.

Esch.

Good, Sir, (if I may be so bold) what business had you at that House?

Mic.

None o' my own. A Friend o' mine brought me from the Change to be his Spokes∣man in a Concern of his.

Esch.

VVhat was the Concern, Sir?

Mic.

••••l tell ye: In this House dwells an or∣dinary VVoman or two; which I suppose ••••u don't know, ••••, I'm sure you don't; for they han't liv'd long in these parts.

Esch.

VVell, Sir, and what then?

Mic.

Here's an old VVoman and her Daughter.—

Esch.

So, Sir.

Mic.

— The Daughter has buried her Father: Now this Friend o' mine is the nearest Relation, and by Law is forc'd to marry her himself.

Esch.

Undone!

Aside.

Mic.

partly hearing.

What's ••he Matter?

Esch.

Nothing, very well.— Proceed, Sir.

Mic.

You must know he's just now come to take her away with him: For he dwells at Miletus.

Esch.

How! To take the Girl away with him?

Concernedly.

Mic.

Yes.

Esch.

What as far as Miletus, pray Sir?

Mic.

Ay.

Esch

aside.

It stabs me to the Heart.— And the Women, Sir, what say they to't.

Mic.

What should they, think ye? Ev'n just nothing: Only the Mother pretends her Daughter has a Child by another Man (I can't tell who, for she nam'd him not) that he was the first comer, therefore the Kinsman must go without her.

Esch.

So, Sir: And wasn't that a sufficient De∣murrer?

Mic.

No, indeed.

Esch.

Why so, I beseech ye? Will he take her away in good earnest?

Mic.

Ay, why shou'dn't he?

Esch.

Indeed, Sir, this was extream severe and cruel, (if I might take the Liberty) I might say ungenreely done.

Mic.

How so?

Esch.

How so? What d'ye think will become o'th' poor young Man her first Lover (who for ought you know loves her most desperately) when he shall see her ravish'd before his Face, and hur∣ried away from his sight for ever? Oh, 'twas a very dishonourable thing of you, Sir!

Mic.

Why d'ye talk at this rate? Whose Pro∣mise had he? Or whose Consent? When, and how were they married? Pray who's the Man? What made him encroach upon another Man's Right?

Esch.

Was it fit for a Girl of her age to sit cross-legg'd at home waiting for a Kinsman's coming the Lord knows when? Indeed, dear Father, you ought in Justice to have alledg'd that, and ha de∣fended it.

Mic.

Very good! Shou'd I ha' pleaded against my own Client?— but prithee Boy, what's all this to us? Or what ha' we to do with them?— Come let's be going— How now Boy! why in tears tho?

Eschine weeps.

Esch.

Hear me one word, Sir, I beseech ye.

Mic.

Poor Boy! I've heard and know all: For loving thee I cou'dn't but be concern'd in whate're thou dost.

Esch.

Dear Sir! I'd fain deserve your Love as long as you live. This Fault grieves me to the Soul; and I'm quite asham'd to look you in the Face.

Mic.

I believe it sincerely: For I well know

thy generous Temper: but I'm afraid you don't mind your own Concerns. What kind of Govern∣ment is it that you think you live in? Thou hast debauch'd a Girl, whom by Law thou oughtest not to have touch'd; that's a great Fault, and tho' very great tis but a common failing: Others ha' done it often, and Men of Repute too. But when that was done, tell me, did you take the least care about it? Or did you forecast in such a case what should ha' been done? Or how it should ha' been done? And if thou hadst been asham'd to tell it me, cou'dn't I ha' know on't by others? In this you were in doubt of for ten Months together: So you have betray'd your self, the poor young Wo∣man, and your own Child too, as much as you were able. What? D'ye think that the God's shou'd do your work for ye, and you sleep the while? Must she be brought to your Bed-side, as if she were not worth the fetching? I wou dn't ha' thee so miserably careless in other things for the World.— Come don't be cast down however, thou shalt marry her.

Esch.

How?

Mic.

Don't be cast down, I say.

Esch.

Pray, Sir, are ye in earnest?

Mic.

In earnest: Why not?

Esch.

That I can't tell, unless 'tis 'cause the more passionately I desire to have it so, the more I'm afraid it won't be so.

Mic.

Get thee home, and say your Prayers, and then send for your Wife, go, get thee gone.

Esch.

VVhat send for her presently?

Mic.

Yes, presently.

Esch.

What presently?

Mic.

Presently, as soon as possible.

Esch.

Let me never see good day, Sir, if I don't love ye better than my very Eyes.

Mic.

Than your Mistress too?

Esch.

Full as well.

Mic.

That's much, indeed.

Esch.

But what's become of the Miletian Spark?

Mic.

He's vanish'd, shipt off, and cast away by this time.— But why don't ye go, I say to your Prayers.

Esch.

It wou'd be better for you to do that, S••ir. I'm sure your Prayers will be heard sooner than mine, since you are the better Man o' th' two.

Mic.

I'll in, and take care of what's wanting. Do as I bid thee, if thou know••st what's best for thy self.

Exit Micio.

Eschine

alone.

What Happiness is this? wou'd any one think he's my Father, or I his Son? If he had been a Friend or a Brother cou'd he ha' been more kind or obliging! Ought I not to love him? To wear him next my Heart? His wonderful Complaisance has oblig'd me to be so cautious, as imprudently to do nothing that may displease him; wherefore I'll now be always upo' my Guard.— But why don't I go in, that I may not defer my Marriage!

Exit Eschine.

Demea

Enter alone out of Breath.

I'm quite foundered with trotting up and down.— A plague confound thee, Syrus, for thy damn'd Directions.— I've hobbl'd over the whole Town, been at the Gate, at the Horse-pond, and where not? The Devil a Joyner's Shop cou'd I find; or any Soul that so much as saw my Bro∣ther.— But now, I'm resolv'd I won't stir a step out of his House, till he comes back.

Going off, and then enters Micio.

Mic.

entring.

I'll go and tell 'em for our parts we are ready.

Dem.

Oh, here he comes.— I've been looking for you these two hours.

Mic.

What's the business now?

Dem.

I've fresh News to tell ye: horrid Villanies of that fine Son of yours.

Mic.

Look ye now.

Aside.

Dem.

New Villanies, damnable Villanies!

Mic.

Prithee no more.

Dem.

Ah, you don't know what a fine Blade he is.

Mic.

But I do.

Dem.

Poor Simpleton! I warrant thou dreamest I'm about the Singing-wench: No, the Rascal has debauch'd a Citizen's Daughter.

Mic.

That I know too.

Dem.

Bless me! D'ye know it and suffer it too?

Mic.

Ah, why shou'dn't I?

Dem.

What? Methinks you shou'd bellow and run mad at it.

Mic.

No: But I could wish it otherwise.

Dem.

He has got a Bastard too.

Mic.

Heavens bless it, say I.

Dem.

And the Woman's not worth a Groat.

Mic.

So they say.

Dem.

And shall he be married to a Beggar?

Mic.

Yea verily.

Dem.

Well, and what's to be done next pray?

Mic.

Why ev'n what should be done next, have the young Woman brought home.

Dem.

Monstrous! And will ye suffer't?

Mic.

How can I avoid it?

Dem.

Avoid it? Why, if you were not really concern'd at it, 'twou'd become ye to seem so however.

Mic.

I've given consent already: The business is concluded on: The Wedding's as good as over: Every thing is secure, and I think this becomes me better.

Dem.

Then this Adventure pleases you wonder∣fully?

Mic.

No, if I knew how to help it: since I can't, I must bear't patiently. Man's Life is like a Game at Tables, if you miss the Cast you've most need of, you must correct that by Skill which fell out by chance.

Dem.

Your Servant, Mr. Corrector! Your Skill as you call it has fool'd away Fifty Guinea's upon a Ballad-singer; who in three or four days time must be pack'd off; if not for a Piece of Money, at any rate.

Mic.

There's no body to buy her, nor do I de∣sign to sell her.

Dem.

What a-duce will ye do with her then?

Mic.

Why keep her at home.

Dem.

Mercy upon my Soul••l A Whore and a Wife under the same Roof?

Mic.

Why not, prithee?

Dem.

And you are sure you arn't mad?

Mic.

Yes, indeed.

Dem.

Let me die, if e're I saw the like Folly•• I'faith I believe thou thy self hast a mind to have a me••ry strain with her now and then.

Mic.

Why shou'dn't I?

Dem.

And the Bride, won't she be for learning the same Tune too?

Mic.

No doubt on't.

Dem.

And thou pretty Child wilt hobble out the Hay amongst 'em too?

Mic.

Like enough.

Dem.

Like enough with a Pox?

Mic.

And rather than fail, Brother, thou shalt make one o' th' Company.

Dem.

S••death! Are ye past all shame?

Mic.

Prithee, Brother, throw off this sullen Humour of thine, and like a civil Person be free

and merry at your Son's VVedding.— I'll just step and speak a word at that House, and then I'll come back again.

Exit to Sostrata's.

Demea

alone.

Here's a sweet Life! Here are fine Morals! Here's mad work with a witness!— Let me see, a Wife not worth a Groat; a Ballad-singer under the same Roof: Every thing running to riot i' th' House: A profligate young Rogue, and a doting old Sot into the Bargain: Why Providence it self, if it shou'd go about it, wou'd never be able to save this Family.

Enter Syrus, at a distance almost Drunk.

Syr.

to himself.

Faith and troth my little Rogue Sy, thou hast junketted thy pretty self deliciously, and play'd thy part very sumptuously. Go thy ways for a Wag.—

strokes himself.

Since I've stuff'd my sweet Corps with the Dainties within, 'tis my Honour's Pleasure to take a turn i' th' fresh Air without.

Walks and struts.

Dem.

There goes a rare Model of their Edu∣cation.

Syr.

Oh here's our old Stingo i'faith— How is••t old Gentleman? Why so alamort?

Dem.

Oh damn'd Rascal.

Syr.

How now old Wisdom, are you come to vent more Morals here?

Belches.

Dem.

Wou'd I were thy Master,—

Syr.

E'gad you'd be the richest Man under the ••••n, and your Estate would be improv'd to a Miracle.

Dem.

I'd make thee an Example to all Rogues.

Syr.

Why so? What have I done?

Dem.

Done, Rascal? In the heat of a disturbance, ••nd in the midst of a most horrid crime, scarce yet ••••tled, you've got drunk ye Swine, as if all were ••ell and over.

Syr.

Faith, wou'd I had kept my Post.

Aside.

Enter Dromo.

Dro.

D'ye hear Syrus? Mr. Ctesipho wou'd pray ye to come to him.

Syr.

Away with a Pox.

Softly. Exit Dromo.

Dem.

What's that he said of Ctesipho?

Syr.

Nothing, Sir.

Dem.

How ye Goal-bird! Is Ctesipho nested there••

Syr.

No, Sir; no.

Dem.

How came the Boy to name him then?

Syr.

That's another of the Name, a young Smell feast; d'ye know him?

Dem.

I will know presently.

Going off.

Syr.

holding him.

What d'ye mean, Sir? Whither are ye going?

Dem.

Dog, let me go.

Syr.

I say, don't go.

Dem.

Hands off ye Hell-hound; or by Heavens I'll brain ye.

He holds up his Cane, and Syrus let's go. Exit in a Fury.

Syrus

alone.

The Devil go with him: I'll be sworn he'll be no welcome Reveller to any of them, especially to poor Ctesipho.— Zookers! where shall I bestow my self?— The time this plaguy Storm is blow∣ing over, I'll ev'n slink into some by-corner, and there sleep out this Dose of Tipple. I think that will be best.

Exit staggering.

The End of the Fourth Act.